Someday Never Comes
by Apocalyptic-Mess
Summary: In the Hunger Games, only 1 tribute can leave the arena alive. In the 74th Games, 2 people were allowed to leave the arena alive. My name is Catari, I was District 4's tribute, and I was dead when I left the arena. Too bad for them I didn't stay dead.
1. Prologue

**Summary: In the Hunger Games, only one tribute can leave the arena alive. In the 74****th**** Games, twenty-two people died, two were allowed to leave the arena. My name is Catari, I was District 4's tribute, and I was dead when I left that arena. Too bad for them I didn't stay dead.**

**Disclaimer: My first Hunger Games fanfiction, so you can't tell me how bad it is, but I don't own anything to do with the Hunger Games! I only own Catari and Jaren and Avalon, so I guess someone else owns everyone else . . . (Don't worry Peeta! I'll steal you for myself at some point!)**

**Someday Never Comes**

**Prologue**

_**First thing I remember was askin' papa, "Why?"**__**  
**__**For there were many things I didn't know.**__**  
**__**And Daddy always smiled; took me by the hand,**__**  
**__**Sayin', "Someday you'll understand."**__**  
**__**Well, I'm here to tell you now each and ev'ry mother's son**__**  
**__**You better learn it fast; you better learn it young,**__**  
**__**'Cause, "Someday" Never Comes."**_

**~ Someday Never Comes by Creedence Clearwater Revival (CCR)**

"Ah!" I gasped sharply through my teeth, clawing my fingers through the hard dirt as I tried not to flinch back from the needle as it once again directed itself at my shoulder. Just for the fact that I couldn't think of anything else to do, I growled at the needle as it embedded itself in the deep, two-inch gouge taken from my left arm. I didn't care that this was supposed to be helping me from bleeding to death; it _hurt!_ Could he not think of a worse torture to inflict on me than literally sewing up my own skin? Another pierce of pain and I knew that if this wasn't over soon, I was going to hunt down the next idiot I could find and kill them. Preferably that redheaded _bitch_ who had not ten minutes ago stolen Cato's knife and ripped a gash into my shoulder. Throwing my head back, I let out a primal grunt of pain. "Son of a _bitch!_" I growled low in my chest.

Peeta flinched back at my expression and daring eyes. "Don't worry," he said shakily, trying to concentrate on the actual task of stitching my arm than the fact that he couldn't stop his bloodstained hands from shaking. "I'm almost done." Almost absentmindedly, Peeta glanced up at me as if to reassure me, then hastily turned his attention back to my arm. _Too late_, I thought sadly. I'd seen it.

The cruel comebacks died quickly in my throat. Those eyes . . . those _eyes_. They just made me feel so insanely guilty; I slowly sighed and tried once again to block out the pain from the needle sliding through my flesh. "It's okay, I guess." I responded as harshly as I could (which was a pathetic whimper) while staring at those eyes . . . those eyes that reminded me so much of Jaren.

Jaren. Who right now was sitting at home, possibly watching me take my last few breaths. While here I was, insulting and being rude to the only person who was being nice to me. The only person who could possibly understand my situation.

_Oh Jaren, if only you could understand why . . ._

"Cat!" A loud snap sounded in front of my face and I instinctively jerked back, momentarily having forgotten about the seeping wound. As I pulled my body away from the sound, the stitches in my shoulder pulled tight, releasing a shock of pain that traveled down my arm. At my gasp of agony, Peeta immediately began muttering apologies.

_I don't want your sympathy,_ I thought viciously, _I want you and your girlfriend to be dead so I don't have to kill you._ "What the hell was that for?"

Sending a sceptical glance in my general direction, Peeta finished up the last few stitches. "Well, you kind of just passed out on me for a second."

That caught my attention and I felt the confusion instantaneously replace the anger and the pain (well, _most_ of the pain anyway). "I did?"

Chuckling, Peeta smiled and said, "Yeah, you did. More than once, actually."

I stared at him in shock. I wasn't shocked because of Peeta's response, but because he'd laughed. His laugh, something about his laugh . . . _Jaren._

_Home._

Then it was like all of a sudden, I just couldn't breathe. I tried to take huge, gulping breaths, tried to staunch the tears flowing. Through my uncontrollable sobs, I managed to choke out 6 words. "I j-just want to g-go h-home." Ignoring the painful grip of agony that my shoulder was experiencing, I grabbed onto the closest thing to me, which, unfortunately for Peeta, happened to be his jacket and I clung to it for dear life. With my ear pressed flat against Peeta's chest, I could hear his slightly accelerated heartbeat, and his obviously uncomfortable breathing, but I chose to overlook it. I hugged his chest, not caring about the cameras, or that I may have to potentially kill this boy I was pouring my heart out to, or even Jaren, who was watching me cry for the first time on national television. I really didn't care about any of it.

It felt good, not to care.

Apparently getting over his momentary lapse in discomfort, Peeta cautiously wrapped his arms around me and tried to soothe me. I couldn't hear anything over my annoyingly loud sobs, and I was infinitely glad that the others had gone out hunting and left me with only Peeta. If Glimmer, or even Cato had been here to witness this, I would have been dead by now.

Which begged the question, why hadn't Peeta killed me already?

Before I knew it, I began blubbering random, disjointed thoughts, questions I had, fears, and I just kept going. Peeta tried to calm me, or at least appease me to the point that I'd stop crying, but then he muttered something along the lines of 'it's okay; I understand' and before I could stop myself, the words spewed forth in a continuous stream of non-sense.

"No!" I screamed at Peeta, finally pushing him away while for the first time feeling the insane burning in my shoulder. "No, you don't understand! How could you possibly understand? You're here, but at least _she's_ here too. She'll be able to hold your hand before you die. She'll be able to say she loves you, even if she's going to kill you." The expression in Peeta's eyes was indescribable, and it would haunt my dreams for the next two years. "At least _she'll _die knowing you tried to save her. But me? When I die, he's going to see it on national television, and I won't hear him say my name ever again."

As Peeta opened his mouth to defend himself, I whispered one final sentiment. "When I die, he'll know he couldn't have saved me."

When the anger burned away and silence still hung unbearably in the air, I wiped my face with the right sleeve of my jacket, seeing as how my left arm was now burning uncontrollably. Resentment once again filled the space between us, and I muttered a hostile after-statement. "Not that I'd expect you to understand."

Peeta's next action caught me by surprise, but I refused to show it. Boldly, he rolled his eyes as if I hadn't just been sobbing and clinging to shirt for all it was worth. The unease had melted away and in its place was a kind of grudging acceptance; and as much as I loathed to admit it, a wary understanding.

"Sure," he announced in a drawn out drawl, hinted with a little bit of scorn. "And now you'll tell me that one day, the answers will be clear to me and that someday, I'll understand."

For once, I didn't feel like smashing his face against a rock; _really_ hard. That bitter understanding between us had cleared something away. Something I couldn't place. I just stared at him sadly, feeling the unwanted pity rising up inside my chest. With a sorrowful sigh, it escaped, and I could see that the pity was just as unwanted in Peeta's eyes as I could feel in mine.

Sending a sardonic chuckle his way, I experimentally tested out my shoulder. _Not bad, Lover Boy,_ I wanted to say, but something else entirely decided to escape from my lips. "You poor, naive little bastard."

I clicked my tongue and returned my gaze to his eyes . . . his eyes that, now that I could properly look, didn't look a thing like Jaren's. His _green _eyes. Peeta returned my gaze just as unwaveringly, and in my mind, I secretly smiled.

"I hate to break this to you, sweetheart, but 'someday' never comes."

**A/N: I'm actually really happy with this, so please don't diss it! Basically, it's a story about the 74****th**** Hunger Games and about Catari, who was the tribute from District 4. I have my own little twists, so I hope you like it! ^-^**

**If you review, I'll give you a box full of kittens dipped in cupcake sauce! My Yule/Christmas present to YOU!**

***~*Courtney*~***


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: I am SO sorry for not updating since . . . holy crap. Last December? Are you kidding me? D: WHAT HAPPENED? **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. But sometimes I like to pretend Peeta is my homeboy.**

**Chapter 1**

The ship—if you could call it that—docked late that morning, so late that the sun was almost up by the time I'd de-boarded with my load. I hefted the mesh bag over my shoulder quickly before slipping down the pier. The dock was uneven beneath my feet, rocking slightly but not enough that it gave me cause for concern. I'd grown up on ships, on boats and fishing platforms, and I was used to it by now. My pace this morning was hurried, bordering on frantic, but I didn't want to waste any amount of time. Not only did I have to go home to make sure that my siblings were fed, but I also wanted to spend one more day at Jaren and I's secret spring. Jaren . . .

I smiled.

I picked up my pace as I glimpsed Jaren's black hair and aqua eyes until suddenly I was running. I dropped the bag at my feet and leapt into his arms as he caught me, spinning me in fast twirls. Laughing, I brought my lips to his and kissed him briefly before smiling and pulling away. This was our routine. It had happened every morning for the past two and a half years, and it had yet to get old. I still felt that tightening of my chest when I walked down the pier, my heart fluttering as I walked on tiptoes to see over the heads of all of the workers.

Jaren's grin was one of obvious relief and contentment, and I felt my knees buckle underneath me.

"Every time." Jaren laughed as he effortlessly caught me around my waist.

"Every time." I sighed in agreement.

With that, I steadied my legs and picked up my bag and we began walking in silence. I couldn't help but think, for the hundredth time, that this was just so easy and _right_.

"Do we have to stop off at your place first?" He asked suddenly, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes as he steered me away from the market and down a side street.

I nodded. "I need to make sure the little brats get food or they'll hunt me down." I laughed softly, thinking of the last time my little brother and little sister had ran around the District screaming my name. Of course it had all been Irvin's idea, him being the trouble maker and all, but I was still surprised that shy Kutiel had followed his lead. The term 'brats' was also one of endearment, even if the two of them together was almost more than I could handle.

Jaren just smiled and nodded and we fell back into easy silence, just revelling in each other's company. I was content just to walk around for hours, holding onto Jaren's hand as every few seconds he peaked at me and smiled. If life could just be this, just us and our company and not having to worry at all about anything, I could live forever.

But today was the day of the reaping.

It was my last year, having just turned eighteen two weeks ago, and it was another three years before my twin brother and sister could even begin to worry about it. Jaren was blissfully over the reaping age, so that just left me.

But of course, I wasn't going to be reaped. Even if I did, it's not like no one would volunteer. Not because I had many friends or people who would take my place, but because this was District 4, and that's what people did here. They'd train all their lives, they'd volunteer for the glory, they'd get greedy, too prideful, and then they'd die.

I had nothing to worry about.

Except for the fact that I'd had a target on my back from when I was just old enough to walk.

It was after my mother gave birth to Kutiel and Irvin, and my father decided to bail on us. He just took off with some tramp from District 1, never to be heard from again. The day after he left, I was at school and it was our break so I was playing in the sand. I never realized this when I was little, but our school was located on the beach, which could have been potentially disastrous. Personally, I think they were hoping for some of the kids to drown themselves. Save the effort for someone else.

I had very few friends at that age, and because the news of my father's scandal had spread faster than a wildfire, those few friends had dwindled down to none. I was playing alone when Parvati Samuels came over and destroyed my sand castle. Parvati had perfect black hair and blue eyes the exact colour of the sea, even at that age. She spat the word "freak," in my face, and though I'd never heard that word before I knew from the way she said it that it _wasn't_ meant to be a compliment. Remembering the words of my father (_"Always fight back, Kitty Cat, and never back down_._"_), I got up casually, dusted the sand off my pants and then proceeded to push Parvati into the ground, kicking sand in her face.

Two teachers had to carry the crying Parvati away while another one of them smacked me over the head with an Earth Sciences text book (which are much thicker than any other text book we use). I still remembered the words Parvati screamed to me when I stuck my tongue out at her receding form. Glaring at me, she said, "I'll make sure you're in the Hunger Games so you can die!"

It was a harsh insult, one that didn't sit well with me. She even had detention for a few days after that, but I couldn't bring myself to feel any amount of satisfaction. If she really meant it, I'm sure she'd find a way to make it happen.

So, since it was my last year to be reaped, and Parvati was the Mayor's daughter and had the whole District wrapped around her perfect little finger, I had _everything_ to worry about.

The house we approached was almost to dilapidated to be referred to as a house. More of a shack. Or a box with windows. But its familiar dark brown trim, stand-out red door and almost non-existent garden are what made this place home to me. Also, I enjoyed the residents from time to time. Even as I thought it, I imagined I saw two pairs of eyes straining to look through the window.

_What would happen to them if I were to be reaped?_

I knew what would happen though, and I'd owe Jaren whatever was left of my life.

"You okay?"

I glanced over to see Jaren's concerned expression focused on my face. Covering up with a smile, I responded with a simple, "Yeah. Just a little nervous, I guess."

Jaren stopped me as we approached my front step, taking both my hands in his own. He grabbed my bag from my hands and kissed my knuckles. "You have nothing to worry about, Catari." He replied softly.

I scrunched my nose and laughed. "Jaren, my hands smell like fish."

Jaren's own bright smile spread across his face. "Yeah, they kind of do."

I giggled again and smacked him lightly on the shoulder before opening the front door and stepping into my home. Dark walls, dark floors, ratty old couches and a small black and white television are all the main room has to offer. Home. It's not huge, it's not extravagant, but it's comfortable. My smile momentarily failed as I turned my back on Jaren.

_Oh Jaren, you have no idea how wrong you are . . ._

The smile was immediately plastered on my face again as Kutiel came running from the kitchen, shrieking happily. Irvin followed closely behind and was chasing her with a twig, screaming, "On guard! Draw your weapon, wench!"

"Hey!" I called, grabbing the twig from Irvin's hand as Kutiel ran behind me. "Don't call your sister that. It's rude, Irvin."

Pouting, Irvin flipped his blond hair from his eyes and stared up at me. "But Cat! It was in the book Jar read to us last night!"

I glanced unhappily at Jaren but sighed. "Just . . . just don't say it, Vin. And please don't say it at school. You know they'll ask where you heard it, and books are forbidden." As Irvin continued to pout, I handed the bag to Kutiel. "I brought more fish home for us. Do you want to get started on breakfast?" Kutiel just took the bag and smiled her most charming little girl smile and took off towards the kitchen again, Irvin, yet again, taking off after her.

Pausing for a moment, I tried to detect any movement occurring in the lone bedroom located to my left, but after a moment, my mother's snores could be heard over Kiti and Vin's bickering. Better for her stay sleeping. She'd been up all night drinking, whether because she knew it was the reaping or just out of pure selfishness, I wasn't not sure. My mother didn't know about letting my siblings read forbidden books, or else I was sure that in one of her drunken daze's, she'd have marched straight to the Peacekeepers and informed them of all of the nefarious doings of her ungrateful daughter. She'd be sorry in the morning when she was sober enough to think, if not completely embarrassed, but one slip. One slip up was all it would take.

Jaren helped me take off my coat and hung it up as I started to tidy up the few possessions we had. No matter how few things we owned, our house still looked like the Tasmanian Devil had gone on a rampage through it.

"You know," I started slowly, not really wanting to have this conversation today but figuring it would be better now than never. "We probably should stop reading to them."

Jaren's look of alarm might have been humorous under different circumstances, but right now I was just trying to protect everyone.

He stared at me for a moment longer before deciding to answer. "You're . . . kidding, right?"

Shrugging, I picked the knitted blanket off the ratty couch and started to fold it, even if it was just to keep my hands busy. "I just . . . If anyone finds out we read Kiti and Vin books, _forbidden books_, from before the Dark Days, not only do _we_ get in trouble and most likely shipped off to the Capitol, but your Uncle, too! They're his books, Jaren. You _know_ how much trouble we'd be in."

When Jaren just stood there watching me, I felt the need to continue. "You'd definitely lose your job, we'd be in prison in the Capitol, or worse, and they'd probably take Kutiel and Irvin to the Capitol to be brainwashed or something. And my mom—and you'd lose your car!—and—"

Then suddenly Jaren was kissing me. I knew it was because I was becoming flustered and panicked, but I couldn't help myself. The thought of my siblings in the Capitol, being brainwashed and mutilated, or worse, and my drunken mother left alone to her own devices. And Jaren, in prison or dead. I just couldn't bear to think of it.

He was the first to pull back, and I'm not proud to say that a whimper escaped my lips. Jared put his hands on either side of my face and was staring at me with such intensity that I almost felt compelled to look away, or blush uncontrollably. He absently stroked my cheek with his thumb, always keeping eye contact. "It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be fine, Cat, I swear." He pressed warm lips against my forehead in comfort. "I'll never let anything happen to you." _You_, meaning my entire family, as well as myself.

For a moment, I let myself believe him. It's all I need. I nodded my head and let out a nervous laugh. "I know." It doesn't come out quite as confidently as I wanted it too, so I steel my resolve and repeat, "I know."

The answering smile I'm rewarded with was worth any amount of uncertainty.

"Come on," he replied gruffly with a smile set easily on his features. He guided me lightly by the hand to the kitchen. "We can feed the little ones and still have a few hours at the spring."

Even without his leading hand, I'd follow him. I'd follow him anywhere.

Jared and I had this special place we'd go. It was hidden, and a bit of a hike to get there, but it was worth all the bumps and bruises. Most District 4 citizens would rather swim to the edge of the ocean than fight their way through the forest, so even though the spring Jared and I found was only about a half hour walk, I'd never seen any signs to indicate that another soul even knew this place existed.

The spring itself was only maybe five feet deep at the most extreme depth, and spanned maybe thirty feet of land, but it was perfect. The water was always a clear blue—not as polluted as the sea, but not as clear as the sky—and it was safe to drink without even boiling it. The pool of water was on the far left of what I can only think to call a meadow, bordered by trees on three sides, and a specifically large moss covered rock formation at the back that probably projected a good twenty feet in the air.

Perfect. My second home. I probably felt safer here even than at my own house, which shouldn't have been surprising.

Maybe that was only because I associated this place with Jaren, though. To me, that's what Jaren was. He was safety. He was stability. He was my paradise. It was just by pure chance that the first time we'd met each other was there, at the spring.

"You remember the first day we met?" Jaren asked abruptly. We were sitting a few feet away from the spring's edge, Jaren's head was in my lap as I twirled random pieces of hair and, without him knowing, placed tiny white flowers in his hair. I had to stifle to overwhelming urge to laugh.

I smiled at the memory, though the events that led up to our meeting were not necessarily good ones. It had been four years exactly to the day since my father had taken off—I knew, because it was Kiti and Vin's birthday. I was thirteen by then, old enough to babysit my brother and sister, and they were old enough not to need taking care of every second of the day. I guess that was when my mother started drinking. It was the first time I'd been struck on purpose; by anyone. By my own mother, no less.

I'd taken off. I ran blindly through the woods, because if I'd stolen one of the boats, there were others who knew the ocean better than I did, and you could distinctly see the fence on the horizon line. I wouldn't get very far. But the forest? No one went into the forest. Mostly because it was frowned upon, but also because they were scared. Water's our thing, for the most part. Fish and clams and seaweed. Not bears and trees and plants.

I ran for what I thought was hours, days, but in fact was only a little over two hours. I know I must have circled the spring at least once, though from the tears streaming from my eyes, I was amazed that I could see it even when I was standing in the middle of it.

Jared was sitting in the middle of the field, and I remembered think that he was a year ahead of me in school, though I didn't know his name at that point. He hadn't noticed me yet, which was a miracle seeing as I was openly sobbing, He held a book in his hands and was staring at it with such apt concentration that I immediately stopped crying. I was old enough to know that most books from the before time were forbidden, and I was close enough to recognize the cover as one that I'd seen on posters before, declaring you to submit all items for termination.

Then he looked up.

I can't tell you specifically what emotions I saw running through his eyes, but I picked out surprise, shock, curiosity, and then finally, maybe most profoundly of all, panic.

"You can't tell anyone!" He'd said, shooting up so fast that I was a little dizzy when he was standing in front of me a second later. "Don't say anything, or I'll—I'll . . ."

Not one to take kindly to threats, I'd wiped my face fiercely, getting rid of any stray tears and then glared at him. "You'll do what, exactly? Tattle to the Peacekeepers?"

He'd looked so infuriated that I'd called him out, so scared that I might tell someone about the book which he'd stuffed hastily under his jacket.

He hit me. Not hard, like my mother had, but he'd punched my shoulder hard enough that I stumbled back. At that point, I thought he was trying to bully me; maybe he was planning on beating me up and leaving me here to die. Now, I know that he was trying to scare me off. It didn't work. I punched him back, but I _did_ punch in the face.

That was that. He'd asked me about the welt on my cheek and I'd spilled my entire life story. He told me that his parents were dead, and that he lived with his uncle fixing up old before-time items. Extremely illegal, yet he's trusted me enough with the information even then.

As I placed another flower in his hair, I smiled brightly, though I was pretty sure he was starting to get suspicious. "I remember." I said softly, holding his gaze for a second longer than usual.

"And you love me." It's a simple statement, and I know he's not questioning it, but I get the distinct feeling that he wants me to respond anyway.

I lightly touched his cheek and warmth spreads into my fingertips. "I do. I love you more than anything." There was an _almost_ supposed to be placed somewhere in there that wouldn't have to be explained. My brother and sister always came first.

But something was distracting him. He didn't even return my smile. That alone was enough to get my heart to speed up half a beat faster.

"Jar . . . ?"

He sat up abruptly, facing in the opposite direction. Jaren's right hand fumbled awkwardly with his pocket, but I couldn't see around him enough to know what he was doing.

When he turned towards me, I noticed the light sheen of sweat beginning to perspire along his hairline, and the apprehensive gleam in his eyes. My hand automatically reached out towards him to try and ease his distress, but something in his expression made me drop my arm.

"Cat . . ."

I waited. I waited for him to say something else, to grab my hand, to do _anything_ really.

_Jaren . . ._

His face cleared, and for a moment, I felt my heart stutter in anticipation, but then his eyes widen. "Do you hear that?"

_No_, I wanted to say angrily. _I was trying to focus on breathing, actually_. But I could hear it now.

The warning bell. Announcing a last call to sign in for the reaping.

I felt my eyes widen in response. _No . . . _There was no way we could make it on time.

We're running before I'm even aware of standing up.

**A/N: I PROMISE I WILL UPDATE MORE OFTEN! Like, once every week or two. I'm so sorry about the giant time gap. Didn't have the best year, but yeah, no excuse, I know. :) Please tell me what you think!**

***~*Courtney*~***


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: What . . . what is this? Another chapter up? In only a few DAYS? O.O I must be losing my procrastination touch . . . **

**Disclaimer: I am the proud owner of a 4 pound, 2 ounce baby. His name is Laptop. Though I do not own the Hunger Games . . .**

**Chapter 2**

By the time we came to the square, I was aware of only two things. One, I couldn't breathe, and two, Jaren still had the flowers in his hair. As intense as the urge was to let Jaren suffer through the humiliation of someone seeing them, and though I could barely raise my arm, I found it in me to quickly ruffle his hair once, getting out all but a few stray petals. He glanced at me curiously before taking my hand and pulling me toward the sign-in station. It only took a few seconds, but as soon as I turned around, the mayor began to speak.

Jared gave me one final kiss on the cheek, but even as his actions said goodbye, his hand clenched tighter around mine, making it incapable for me to leave. I gently squeezed his hand in response, and a minute later he let mine go.

"Good luck."

I didn't respond as I ducked under the rope herding my fellow peers. I quickly made my way to the very front, disturbing few people. I saw a glimpse of Kiti on the sidelines, tucked under Jaren's protective arm, but just had enough time to be glad her and Vin had made it on time. Had the task been left to my mother, there would have been Peacekeepers pounding on my door at this very moment. Thankfully, I'd asked my best girl friend to make sure my siblings got to the reaping on time. Even as I thought it, Avalon grabbed my arm and stopped me from moving.

Today was the only day most people dressed up, mostly because it was required. Avalon had on a faded sea-foam-green skirt that was about a size too small and barely reached passed her knees and a mostly cream top, though you could tell it had been washed out so many times the original colour may have been orange. My own outfit was similar—a slightly longer light blue skirt and a surprisingly white shirt, both held together with silver thread. It must have cost a small fortune and at least a months' worth of his pay, but Jaren had bought me the thread as a birthday gift. I'd embroidered a small pattern of waves along the bottom hem of the skirt, and had even had enough left over to make a dress for Kutiel and pair of shorts for Irvin.

I whispered a quick thank you to Avalon, though she didn't seem to be listening as she stared avidly at the podium of the Justice Building. I'd only met Avalon a couple of years before, but she was a good friend. Especially on days like today where a small thing attendance meant the difference between a few hours of uncomfortable tension or a torture session with the Peacekeepers.

I opened my mouth to ask her if she'd had any problems getting my siblings here, but she pinched the back of my hand to shush me. It probably wasn't a good idea to ask here anyway. I instead tried to focus on the Mayor's drawn out speech.

I'd met the mayor before in person, though only once. It had been for a school event; we'd had to visit the Justice Building for a tour. The Mayor had shaken everyone's hand and thanked us, though I hadn't been sure for what. Mayor Thatcher was a rather tall, thin woman, with quick, sharp blue eyes and hair the colour of the setting sun. She was a firm, fierce leader, but she was also unbiased, and for that I admired her. To be a leader of a District, one commonly referred to as a 'Career District,' and to still be unbiased by the Capitols intrusion in our lives? Any person who could do that had already earned my respect, a thousand times over. Though, according to District gossip, I was among the minority. Many people didn't agree with the decision to let her become Mayor, even though she'd earned the right.

There was nothing that could get me to pay attention. I didn't even try. The words were a repeat of every other year, every other speech that had ever taken place atop that platform, but focusing on the decorations wasn't worth the effort. Some brightly coloured blue banners with faded gold writing, promoting the whole thing as a celebration, with the Capitols as its host.

_At least we know where to send the thank you cards_, I thought bitterly.

Then came the list of previous District 4 winners. I counted the names as they were read out, but the number is already planted in my brain. Twelve. Twelve tributes from my District had survived. Pretty good odds, most would say. Staring at the few remaining, there were a total of five, and though I could see some of them put on their best smiles, the others looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. I recognized Finnick Odair immediately—he won the games almost ten years ago. A small brown haired victor sat next to him. Annie Cresta. The expression on her face could only be described as complete indifference. I absently wondered if it was some kind of effect of whatever medicine she was taking. For a brief moment, I could have sworn I saw Finnick take Annie's hand. Must have been my imagination; most of the victors don't get along in our District. Sometimes the Peacekeepers have more work taking care of their fights than of the fights of the citizens. I remembered an old victor—long dead by now—had tried to kill another victor once while she was asleep in her bed. I wonder if any of the other Districts had to deal with situations like that.

The Mayor puts away her lists and flashcards and publicly shakes hands with each victor, because, of course, we are a friendly District. We respected our Mayor and our victors who had shown such bravery and we respected the Capitol for sparing us and continuing to let us live.

What a load of bull—

District 4's escort, a woman by the name of Ezra Cleary, is then introduced. A petite woman with hair one shade brighter than blood and a dress that came down to her shins and flared. I'd seen this type of dress—more of a gown, really—and the vague thought of a mermaid came to mind. Focusing more on that thought, the escort looked like a character in one of the picture books I'd read to Kiti and Vin a few months back. I ducked my head as a smile crossed my lips. This woman probably had no idea how ridiculous she looked.

"Happy Hunger Games!"

Hearing the words caused all humour to recede from my expression. It wasn't a laughing matter. Avalon even gives me a curious side glance before returning to her otherwise stoic position.

Apparently, Ezra Cleary is a woman of many words. It took a conveniently timed cough from the Mayor for the woman to finally finish up her welcome speech. After that though, every went much too quickly. She dipped her hand into one of the large glass bowls—I couldn't help but think of the time Irvin had convinced me to let him keep a fish in a bowl exactly like it—and then her hand has been withdrawn, the piece of paper unfolded, and the name read.

"Catari Winshell!"

It barely took three seconds.

Without even counting, I knew it probably took me twice that long to comprehend it.

Two seconds to take the first step. A full eight seconds to reach the stage.

All in all, it took closer to half a minute for me reach the spot the tributes designated place. It gave a lot of other girls enough time to volunteer. Someone would volunteer for me. They always volunteered. That was why I was walking up the steps. That was why I wasn't crying. Someone would volunteer.

"_I'll make sure you're in the Hunger Games so you can die!"_

"Are there any volunteers?"

It was with that thought that the realization hit in. No one would volunteer for me. Not Avalon, she had four little brothers to take care of and a promising future. I'd feel beyond guilty if she gave that up for me. Not even the girls who were dying for a spot in the arena would volunteer. All the girls in my year had probably been warned and/or paid off by Parvati, and the girls in years behind me still had another chance next year.

_I'm going to die_.

"No!" The shriek came out terrified and tear sodden. I glanced over to see Jaren, jaw slack, the most heartbroken expression on his face. I could see the exact moment his heart broke. It hadn't been his voice though, and that somehow almost made it worse. His grip was loose and Kiti didn't even have to struggle to free from his grasp. "I'll go! I'll go!" She screamed as she sprinted toward the stage, and it took all I had in me not to let her jump into my open arms. Avalon rushed from the crowd and grasped on Kiti's arm just as she was about to mount the stairs, and she takes her in her arms.

Ezra Cleary glanced at me. Anyone could tell that Kutiel, especially since she was small for her age, definitely was not old enough to volunteer.

"She's nine." I said in response, and I was surprised by the harshness of it.

Ezra smiled, but it was clearly coloured with disappointment. "No other takers?" There's no one. Just a silence that occasionally is broken by Kutiel's sobs. Even Irvin is openly crying—he hasn't done that in years.

I refused to look at Jaren. I couldn't bear to see his expression again. I'd break down, right there, with thousands of eyes watching.

"Lucky girl." It was Ezra's only comment directed at me personally, and it made me want to punch her in the face.

The name of the boy tribute was the only thing to break the silence, but I didn't even hear it. No one I knew who I cared about could have been picked. Jaren—his last reaping had been the year before. Irvin—his first wouldn't be for another few years. No one at school talked to me enough to form any friendships, other than Avalon. And she was safe as long as it was me standing on the stage.

It didn't even matter I hadn't heard the name; I see another boy volunteer in his place anyway. I didn't recognize him. Not surprising.

_Seven entries out of thousands and it's my name they called._

I'd been able to keep my family alive without having to apply for tesserae. My family had been decently well off; enough that we'd had three meals a day, every day for years until my father had left. Even then, though, we'd been okay. My father had the decency to leave most of the money—I couldn't bring it in me to think it was because he actually cared about what happened to us—and I'd offered to work on a small fishing boat as soon as I was old enough. I was a natural at casting nets, even at a young age, and I always brought home at least two fish to have on the table for dinner.

The boy took his place, and we were forced to shake hands. He might have tried to tell me something, but my ears had stopped hearing (or maybe my head had stopped listening) and I didn't quite catch them. They might have been along the lines of good luck.

I pulled my hand away quickly.

I knew when the anthem had ended because the Peacekeepers suddenly appeared, leading us through the front doors of the Justice Building. I vaguely wondered if anyone had tried to make a run for it. I'm sure someone had. The real question would have been how far they'd gotten, and if it was even worth the effort to try.

I was shown to a room a left there, my mind too muddled to process the trip; I probably wouldn't have been able to escape the building, let alone the District. Even if I did know the woods better than they did, they were the ones with guns. Tridents, spears and nets don't work so well in the trees.

As I sat alone in the room, I tried not to notice the softness of the chairs. The brightness of the lights or the newness of everything. It was all high quality, fairly expensive fabrics and useless ornamentations. Really, who needed a candle holder that could support sixteen candles? If that tipped over, the whole place could go up in flames in a matter of seconds.

It was my brother and sister who got the honour of saying goodbye to me first. They didn't do much but cry, and I had no problem with that. This was their first encounter with loss. They had been newborns when my father had left us, and they weren't as experienced to that kind of pain as I was. I tried to comfort them, told them that Jaren would look after them, and Avalon, and that I'd be home if a few weeks.

I couldn't remember ever lying to them, and here I was, making impossible promises that I knew I couldn't keep.

It took them almost half of my allotted time to calm them. Maybe they knew I was lying, or maybe it was just intuition, but when they hugged me for the last time, Vin said, "You've been the best big sister ever." I started crying at that point, but it was their time to leave. Even then, the Peacekeepers had to practically drag them from the room. It broke my heart a little bit more than it already was.

Avalon came in next, and though we've never been one for emotional outpourings, we sat on the couch provided and cried. She told me she'd take care of my siblings as best she could, but it was an empty promise. She had her own family to feed without beginning to worry about mine. I told her I'd make it out of the games alive and give her half of my winnings for the rest of our lives, but we both knew the truth.

There was no way I was going to come out of that arena alive.

I sat there for a moment, trying to memorize everything about this girl I called a best friend. Her brown curly hair, her kind, warm eyes, her soft features. I wanted to hold onto these things.

Before Avalon left, she wiped away my stray tears, fixed my shirt and gave me a kiss on the cheek. It was the most amount of comforting I'd ever received before, and I was immediately depressed by how it would probably be the last.

"Do us proud."

It was my last visitor that I was so anxious to see, even though I could hardly stand to look him in the eyes. My goodbyes with the others had taken longer than I thought, so when I saw him walk through the door, his expression was urgent, his steps rushed. I laid a comforting hand on his arm, but he seemed annoyed by the gesture so I dropped it.

Hastily, his finger shaking with nerves, he pulled something out of his pocket. He looked like he wanted to hand it to me, but he glanced at my face and hid it in his palm for another moment.

"Cat." His voice was as steady as the ground, his gaze as stable as a steel cord. The way he said my name wasn't a goodbye. He took a moment to compose himself, and when he looked in my eyes, I could see a new kind of fire burning in them. "Catari Winshell."

_Uh oh. Full name._

Then he held out the object for me. I suddenly couldn't breathe. It was like the one time I fell underwater when I was out fishing with my father, too little to know how to swim. I'm scrambling at the water, or air, or whatever was trying to suffocate me, but I couldn't get purchase on anything solid.

Until finally, my fist impacts. The object just happened to be Jaren's face.

"Are you kidding me?" I screamed at him, letting another blow fall on chest as he stood in shocked silence. "Are you_ kidding me_? You wait till _now_ to—to . . . to do _this_? What is _wrong_ with you?"

Because the small thing that was previously perched in Jaren's open hand, the object now lying on the floor, was a ring. Small, silver, and definitely worth too much for Jaren to be able to afford.

And all he could think to say was, "What?"

I felt like raging, breaking his face against the table, shoving him out the window, anything to get that stupid look off his face. "You propose _now_? When I'm about to _die_? And it's not even romantic!"

And then Jaren laughed. I punched him again, though he didn't seem to feel the impact as much as I did in my knuckles.

_This is what he wanted to do this morning. He wanted to ask you to marry him._ But why still do it now? Why bind your life to someone when you know you're going to be watching them die in the next few weeks?

He took my hand and started massaging my knuckles. His voice was deathly calm as he spoke to me. "I don't expect this to be a marriage proposal, Cat. This is a promise. And I want you to promise that you'll do everything in your power to come back home, because, no matter what, I'll always be here for you."

And that just about made up the lack of any romanticism before.

I kissed him. There was no need for words. These were our last few camera free moments, and I didn't have any intention of wasting them, which is why I felt such utter disappointment when Jaren pulled back. He picked up the ring carefully, didn't even offer to put it on my finger. Placing it in the middle of my palm, he wrapped my fingers around it. When he leaned back down, I closed my eyes, expecting another kiss. His lips were at my ear, his words slow but urgently clear. "Use it." His hold on my hand tightened and the ring dug into my skin. "Use it. I'll wait for you forever."

I didn't have time to ask him to explain. I didn't even have time for a last kiss. His hand was ripped away from mine and even as I reached out to him, the dying breath of a word on my lips, Peacekeepers had dragged him from the room, shutting the door between us.

"I love you."

Forever.

Jaren would be waiting a long time.

**A/N: So . . . What do you think? I'm not asking for much, just even a smiley face. :) How hard are those?**

***~*Courtney*~***


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